Second Term - A Novel of America in the Last Days (The End of America Series Book 1) (28 page)

FIFTY
EIGHT

Springfield,
Missouri

When Brock Simpson
decided in 1979 where to locate the home office of his newly launched trucking
company, he picked Springfield, Missouri. It was about half way between St.
Louis and Oklahoma City, so it was perfect, he concluded, for basing his semis.
When he made the decision he only had one semi-truck and trailer, but since
then had grown to over four hundred and fifty. Simpson Interstate, as he
eventually named it, had become a good-sized freight hauling company, with
annual gross income that he never would have believed possible back in 1979.
Another thing he would not have conceived of when he formed his company was
that a government employee could attend a meeting of his company’s Board of
Directors.

The green shirted CCC
Conservator had arrived at Simpson Interstate’s corporate offices at 8:00 AM.
He identified himself to the receptionist. He asked to speak with Brock Simpson
prior to the Board meeting to convene at 10 AM, “so that I can let Mr. Simpson
know why I’m attending today’s meeting of his Board.” Needless to say, his
initial few words created quite a stir at Simpson Interstate, mostly behind
closed doors. Brock Simpson’s first reaction was to call in the company’s in
house counsel and ask him, “Who the world does this guy think he is? Look on
the security monitor. He’s in his nice little green CCC shirt, leafing through
our lobby magazines like he has a right to be here. Attend our Board meeting?
Is he nuts? This is a private company. We don’t have outside stockholders. I
know, I know, I reluctantly took your advice and added some outside Directors,
besides the wife and our two sons, but surely that doesn’t open us up to….to….what?
I don’t even know what to call this? Governmental inspections, without an
appointment? Sticking their nose in our internal management of the….”

“Brock, if you’ll
slow up for a minute….I understand why you’re upset….”

“
Upset
?
Upset
?
I’m not just upset, I’m flamin’ ticked off. I’m not gonna let this CCC jerk in
my Board meeting and that’s that. He can set in the lobby all day as far as I’m
concerned.”

“Brock, I’m not
arguing with you at this point. That may be what we do. But first, I’m going
out and talk to this guy and see what he’s got loaded in his barrel. If its
spit wads, that’s one thing. We tell him to pound sand. On the other hand, if
it’s a 10 gauge magnum shell, well….we’ll just have to see. I’ll be right back
after I find out what we’re up against.”

Brock’s Counsel
returned from the lobby within seconds bearing a document that neither one of
them wanted to read.  It was a letter addressed to CEO Brock Simpson of Simpson
Interstate, dated yesterday and signed by a Deputy Attorney General of the
United States of America, whose office was in Washington, DC. The letter
advised CEO Simpson that the bearer of the letter was none other than a duly
authorized Conservator attached to the Civilian Conservation Corps who had been
tasked by his office to pay a visit to his company and to set in on his Company’s
Board meeting, which he understood was being held on that day. That was the
good part of the letter. The ominous words were found in its second paragraph
which read:

The above designated
CCC Conservator is specifically instructed at said meeting of your company’s
Board of Directors to record the proceedings, make notes and to obtain copies
of all documents considered or reviewed by the Board at said meeting. This is
all by way of further advising this office as to the legal basis for its
bringing any appropriate charges against the company. Those charges, by way of
explanation, but not limitation, could arise from observed violations by your
company of the Lawrence McAlister Hate Speech and Hate Weapons Elimination Act.
Placement of printed negative attacks against public officials on your
company’s over the road vehicles may constitute violation of said Act, and you
are advised accordingly.

If any effort should
be made to prevent or impede attendance at your Board meeting by the designated
CCC Conservator, this office is prepared to immediately take the appropriate
legal steps to require compliance with this demand. You are so advised.

The rough and tumble
trucking industry was well suited for the likes of Brock Simpson. He didn’t get
to where he was in the trucking business by being a wuss. Brock Simpson lacked
formal education beyond high school, but had acquired more street smarts than
the average business executive. At six foot and just over two hundred and sixty
pounds he would, without too much provocation, yank off his jacket, roll up his
sleeves and prepare to duke it out, if necessary. Though he was in his sixties,
he still didn’t shy away from a fight. On the other hand, his in-house counsel,
who was also his favorite nephew, generally could get his attention when it
came to legal matters. He could instill a calming influence, largely because he
had been right so often in the past and saved Brock Simpson many thousands of dollars
over the years. A calming influence, however, was not what his counsel/nephew
was having on Brock Simpson at this point in time.

“I don’t care what
the Attorney General, or his Deputy, or any other of his lackeys threaten me
with….I’m
not
gonna do it. They can throw me in jail….I’m not letting
this green-shirted government snoop attend my Board meeting. Not….happening.
Got it? Go back out and tell him it will take more than an eight and a half by
eleven inch white sheet of paper to get him or any other government goon into
my company’s Board meetings. That’s settled.”

After trying to
reason with his uncle/client/employer, Brock Simpson’s nephew/counsel/employee
had not changed his mind. He realized he needed to bring in additional
firepower, so he convinced his client to speak with the Washington, DC law firm
the company used on occasion on federal regulatory issues. That conversation
only took twenty minutes, during which Brock Simpson was convinced that he had
no choice, he had to allow his uninvited visitor to attend today’s Board
meeting. He didn’t like it, but he liked the possible penalties and
repercussions even less.

Because of all that
had taken place the Meeting of the nine members of the Board of Directors of
Simpson Interstate convened late. Brock Simpson called the meeting to order.
“OK, we’re convened for our monthly Board meeting. Uh….I think….uh….by
now….you’ve probably all been told that we have an uninvited visitor here today
from the CCC. I’ve been told to make no comments about this matter…. to just allow
him to set in and record the meeting if he wants…..”

“Mr. Simpson,” the
CCC Conservator interrupted, “I
am
recording this meeting….every….
word….spoken….Thank you.”

Brock Simpson’s face
flushed as he fought down the impulse to throw his government visitor through
the plate glass window that looked out over the company parking lot. His nephew
seated next to him gently squeezed his uncle’s arm. He leaned over and
whispered, “Brock, don’t let him get you mad, that’s apparently what he wants.
He’s probably been told you have a short fuse.”

Brock Simpson waited
until he could calm down. He was on medication to control his occasional heart
arrhythmia, but he knew that stress like this meeting could cause erratic heart
pulse, in spite of his meds. He told himself that this was not worth a stroke
or a heart attack. Just as quickly, he thought that if defending everything
he’d fought for years isn’t worth blowing out a heart valve, what is?
Nevertheless, after swallowing most of a 16 ounce bottle of water, he moved on.

“Let’s look at this
month’s agenda that Sharon put together for us. Thanks, Sharon, you always do a
great job. The first item on the agenda is a review of last month’s gross
billings, returns and gross expen….”

“Excuse me, Mr.
Simpson. Don’t mean to interrupt….but….We have an item that we have been asked
to bring up at today’s Board meeting that appears to take precedence over the
items listed on your agenda.”

“Stop….STOP…. First
of all, who is the
‘we’
that you speak of? Secondly, what makes you think
that
you
can control what we do as a Board at
our
meeting?
Thirdly, what makes you think you can decide what takes….what was your word….
precedence
?
Over
our
agenda items? I’ve just about had enough of this….”

“If I may respond,
Mr. Simpson. The ‘we’ you asked about is the government of the United States of
America, for whom I work. The importance of what I have been asked to raise at
today’s Board meeting is simply this. This company has a pattern and practice
of displaying words, slogans, catchy phrases, if you will, on the rear-end of
its many semi-trailers. Those words are seen by potentially millions of
Americans as they drive our nation’s highways.”

“So? Now you’re gonna
tell us what we can paint on our own trucks? Is that this is all about? A few
funny phrases that your bosses in DC may not like? This is flat ridicu….”

“Many motorists, Mr.
Simpson, have been offended by your latest ‘funny phrase’, as you put it. How
does it go? Oh, wait, I can read it on the back of that semi-trailer parked out
there in the lot, WHAT DO THE PRESIDENT AND KARL MARX HAVE IN COMMON? You think
that’s a ‘funny phrase’ Mr. Simpson? Members of the Board?

“And what about the
‘funny phrases’ used in the Presidential election? IF WE GIVE HIM A SECOND
TERM, AMERICA WON’T HAVE A SECOND CHANCE.  Or, JANUARY 20 - THE END OF AN
ERROR. Or, ONE AND DONE. Or what about the phrase you used earlier in the midst
of the stimulus fight, DON’T TELL THE PRESIDENT WHAT’S AFTER A TRILLION. Care
to justify any of these? Anyone?”

Brock Simpson’s wife,
Delilah, had labored along with her husband in building their company. Though
short in stature, she was not known to be a quiet or reserved person. She
couldn’t restrain herself and jumped in, “Mister whatever your name is….let me
tell you this….this is
our
company. We will put what we want to on
our
trucks, as long as it’s not profanity, of course. So you can
just
….”

“Mrs. Simpson, not to
interrupt, but that’s the whole point of the McAlister Act. You can’t
negatively attack public officials. That’s a use of hate words. If hate words
are used, the government can levy substantial fines, or as you may know,
criminal charges can be filed. What this company appears to have done is use
hate words on its trucks, in violation of the law.”

The company’s counsel
interjected, “We don’t agree that they’re hate words or that they are illegal
in any way, but McAlister wasn’t effective in earlier years, nor in the recent
election cycle. So there could be
no
liability for….”

“We’ll let the
Department of Justice lawyers figure all that out, counsel. But, there’s no
question, in our opinion, that the words I am reading on your truck as we sit
in this conference room today are hate words, they violate the McAlister Act
and your company should be fined in a large enough amount to make you stop
violating the law. If that won’t work, then stiffer penalties can be filed, as
we all know. I don’t have anything else really to say, except that I see
looking down to item six on your agenda that there is this entry, DISCUSSION OF
IDIOTIC TRUCKING REGULATORY CHANGES PROPOSED BY THE WHITE HOUSE.

“That could easily be
construed to be hate words, calling the nations’ CEO an idiot, and also in
violation of the McAlister Act. You can be sure I’ll include that in my report
and recommendations to the DOJ….I’m done. I just hope this company, after it is
penalized, sees the light and decides to comply with today’s laws. It’s not
1979 anymore folks. This is a new era.”

After the CCC
Conservator left the room, Brock Simpson said, “I think what he should have
said is that we’re living in a new
error
. Who would have ever thought it
would come to this? God have mercy on us.”

FIFTY
NINE

Helena,
Montana – Montana State House

His somewhat worn and
tarnished badge said MONTANA STATE HOUSE SECURITY. His hair was white and his
shoulders were slightly sloped. His uniform appeared to have been originally
purchased for a larger man. Once he reached retirement age, he had been
assigned the weekend shift so he could supplement his social security income. The
elderly guard preferred the weekend shift because his childhood sweetheart
bride had passed on, which left his Saturdays and Sundays empty and lonely. The
weekend shift this time of year was notorious for inducing sleep, as the
legislature wasn’t meeting and State employed bureaucrats didn’t generally work
outside of Monday through Friday. He was armed, but he had not been to a firing
range for several years.

There are several
entry doors to the Montana State House. After 9/11 it was decided that foot
traffic into the building should be limited to two doors, one for the general
public, with metal detectors, and one coming from the closest parking lot
limited to government officials and employees, with appropriate ID. On the
weekend, the general access door was padlocked. Anyone wishing to enter the
State House had to access the building through the officials’ door, showing
their ID to the aged security guard. The guard was well known to anyone with an
ID, and he was always good for a friendly welcome to the Capitol building.

Gunning Bedford, Jr.
had earlier confirmed State House weekend security details with a member of his
association who was employed in the Montana State Treasurer’s office. He knew
that their occupation of the State House would be opposed by a single aged
security guard. What to do with the guard during their building occupation was
a question that occupied no small amount of planning. Eventually, Gunning’s
posse of ten, nine men and Betty Jean representing the female gun owners of the
State, decided to place the guard in a room with a member assigned who would
keep watch on him and provide food during the occupation. Their plans for the
guard were based on the assumption that he wouldn’t have a heart attack when he
first realized what was happening.

Doug and his son,
recently returned from a stint with the military in Afghanistan, had
volunteered to enter the State House and disable the guard. At 9 PM on Friday
night the two, wearing small back packs, both dressed in plaid shirts and blue
jeans, walked up the steps of the entry limited to employees. They slowly
pushed open the large carved wooden door. They were greeted by the smiling
elderly guard who said, “Howdy, gents, what brings you to the State House this
late on a Friday night?”

The visitors to the
State House smiled back and Doug said, “Well, ol’ partner, we’re actually here
about the anti-gun bill, don’t ya know.”

“Wrong place gents,
you need to go a little east of here, over to DC and talk to those boy
geniuses. Nobody in this building, far as I can tell, supports taking away our
guns.”

As Doug was talking
with the guard, his son slowly edged to his right side, then with a swift move
placed one hand on the guard’s holstered gun, and his other hand on the guard’s
arm.

The move took the
veteran security employee by surprise, “Whoa, watcha doing there, son?”

Doug moved to the
guard’s other side, securing his left arm. “Sorry, ol’ partner, but we’re going
to have to ask you to relax and enjoy the next few hours. We’re here to make a
statement against taking away our guns, not to do you any harm. You’ll be fine.
We have some food for you and we’ll find an office here with a TV, and maybe a
coach, so you can be as comfortable as possible. I’m going to put these zip
cuffs on you, with your hands in front, real loose, so you’ll be comfortable
and can even feed yourself.”

“Well, boys, I sure
hope you know whatcha doin’. You might have a good message, can’t say I
disagree with ya, but you’ll go to jail, sure as shootin’.”

Doug pushed the send
button on his cell phone, signaling his compatriots that it was safe to follow
their path into the building. They were quick to respond and pushed through the
now cleared entry door, carrying several containers with firearms, food and
communication devices. Within minutes the building’s guard, with his new unofficial
guard, were secured in a room off of the legislative chambers. The others
decided to scout out the Rotunda and halls of the building to determine the
best location for their media event, the areas that might be breached if an
assault were to occur and the area from which seven of them planned to escape
late Sunday night.

After some
deliberation, Gunning made the final decision that the media event would take
place in the Rotunda, the circular area in the middle of the State House,
supporting the Capitol dome. They opened the communication case and proceeded
to hook up a television camera that would broadcast their occupation message to
the world via You-Tube. A large yellow
Don’t Tread on Me
flag was
unfurled and secured to the wall in the Rotunda. The flag, which portrayed a
coiled rattle snake, was the first flag carried into battle by the Continental
Marines in the Revolutionary War. Mark and Doug, along with Doug’s son, planned
to stand, with their firearms, in front of the historical flag, and deliver
their attention-grabbing message. The video picture would show a number of
Montanans willing to risk their freedom to stand up for their freedom to keep
and bear arms. The stage would soon be set.